Just Tonight
by Ashleopard
Summary: Ron and Hermione talk about their feelings at Shell Cottage and realize they may never get a chance to be together. Based off my personal headcanon of what happened and is entirely in sync with the scene from the Deathly Hallows book. Rated T for angst.


**Happy 2015!**

**So, as a little treat for the new year, I decided to write up something random because I was having some Romione feels. As much as I ****need ****would like to focus on my original story, sometimes I need to look away from the character sheets and just write something extremely emotional that will make my followers cry. Yay!**

**Anyway, I will apologize in advance if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes; I basically had a one-day binge where I wrote this and by the end of the day I was absolutely exhausted and, while it may not look like much, this story was a huge emotional toll. **

Hermione's head was swimming so much she couldn't tell exactly what was happening. Was she moving? Was she lying down? Was she in pain? She thought she was supposed to be. All she could really understand was a heightened sense of panic flaring in her chest, like a fire that was being suffocated.

As the seconds ticked past, she realized her body was ringing. Every crevice of her being seemed to be feeling the same, torturous glow of relieved agony. She was confused; if she was in pain, then why was she relieved? She tried to move but her limbs seemed disconnected from the rest of her body and she whimpered in protest.

"It's okay, Hermione, you're fine. You're okay. I've got you now."

The broken voice pierced Hermione's buzzing eardrums like a stab from a knife. Something clicked to place in her brain and she struggled with all her might to open her eyes, to see who had spoken. She wasn't quite sure who, but she knew she had to see whoever it was – had to make sure they were alright.

Her eyelids lifted enough to make out a dirty cloth obscuring her vision and she was suddenly painfully aware that they were moving. Groaning, she tried to make herself stop, her body curling into the clothed figure and her fingers numbly twitching at the worn, red fabric.

"Don't move, you'll just hurt yourself more. Please, Hermione, I promise. I – I promise you'll be fine." There was a gulp and the voice shook. "You have to be." The red shook and a strangled sob interrupted the voice.

"Ron…" the hoarse whisper did not have her consent. As she was slowly recovering her senses, she began to realize what was happening. They were moving at quite a slow, steady pace, but the person who was carrying her seemed to be crying. Her head was pressed into his chest, and the scent of cinnamon and other spices almost masked that of dirt and blood. A breeze blew against her and the smell of seawater stung her throat. Beneath her left ear she could hear the rapid thumping of a heart; a large, sturdy, healthy heart. For some reason she felt her eyes tearing up, and the name escaped her again. "Ron."

"I'm right here. We're almost at the cottage. Just a few more seconds. Fleur will be able to fix you up, I know it."

A surge of panic washed through Hermione. "No!" she said, with all the force she could muster. "I don't want – don't – I need you, Ron." Her fingers grabbed his shirt, as if she could prevent being separated from him by her feeble grasp.

There was pause. "You need medical attention."

"I love you."

Ron tripped and Hermione squealed, grabbing him tighter. She shifted her head so she could see his chin. He was looking down at her, wet streaks running down his dirt-stained cheeks and into his untidy ginger stubble. She hadn't been quite sure who it was, but as she looked over his face, her gaze scanning over his freckles and to his water blue eyes, everything suddenly came back to her like a car speeding into a brick wall.

As she watched, he shook his head. His Adam's apple bobbed. "You bumped your head. It's okay, we'll have to back to normal in no time."

"N-no, Ron, I didn't bump my head, and I'm not barmy. I love you. I have for a long time, and I – we almost died back there, and I love you, and I don't know what hurts worse. Please, t-tell me, i-if anything…" Hermione's throat was not being helpful. She sniffed and felt a few tears fall from her eyes. "I-if anything just… just tell m-me you'll always love me… e-even if as a friend."

Ron's face – as distraught and muddy as it was – showed only shock. He had begun walking, except slower now that Hermione seemed to be reviving herself. She thought she saw his mouth twitch as he responded, "Not as a friend."

Hermione heard his heartbeat accelerating and felt hers racing to mimic it. "S-so are you saying…?"

"Yes." He smiled down at her despite himself. "I love you, too, Hermione."

She smiled, temporarily forgetting the pain. "Thank you."

There was a shout from somewhere in front of them that Hermione couldn't see. Hermione felt Ron's arms tighten around her as his face fell slack. "C'mon, Hermione, you'll be fine now, I promise."

Hermione allowed her eyes to close and let her head droop against Ron's chest, all energy gone. Everything that happened – the yells from the house, the constant moving and change of scenery – seemed to be in the background. All she was really aware of was Ron's heaving chest, his shaking arms, his rich smell, and his loud, beating heart as she slowly began to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

/

When Hermione came to again, she was on a soft, floaty surface. She cringed at the sour taste in her mouth and tried to cough, but ended up crying out in pain.

"Hermione? Hermione, what's wrong? Should I call Fleur?"

Hermione blinked heavily to see a blurry, red-headed figure in front of her. "No, no I'm fine," she whispered, not wanting for anyone to see her like this. "I'm just a little – little sore, is all."

Ron looked down at her, his gaze sharp. "A little sore?" he asked, his voice rough. "Just a little sore?"

Hermione tried to nod, but pain shot through her neck. She tried to smile through it, sure by the look on Ron's face that she had not pulled it off.

"Honestly, Ron, I'm completely-"

Ron turned his back to her, looking out the pitch black window to where they could hear the crash of distant waves. The muscles on his back were tense and shaking, as if he were having trouble controlling himself.

"Ron? What's wrong?"

He looked back at her and Hermione was shocked to see he was crying. "A little sore?" he repeated, moving to kneel in front of her bed.

"Y-yes," she replied, her voice unsteady.

His gaze hardened and his lip pouted a little as he glared at her. "You're lying," he stated defiantly. "You're lying I know you're more than a little sore! I – I heard you, e-every single scream while that – she was doing Merlin-knows-what to you!" He hid his face in the bed sheet, apparently unable to continue.

Hermione felt a wetness on her cheek but ignored it. "Ron," she whispered. Ignoring the shooting pain, she reached out to touch his hair – his beautiful, usually silky, now greasy and dirty ginger hair. "Oh Ron, I – I'm sorry." She wrapped her fingers in the uneven strands; she had given him a haircut just a few nights ago. He had washed and his hair had been long, slightly-wet, and soft beneath her gentle grasp.

Was that really so recently? How had everything changed so quickly?

"No – no, it's not your fault," Ron mumbled, lifting his head a little to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. "It was that – her." He quieted, glaring at the opposite wall, apparently unable to think of a foul enough word.

There was a moment of silence; Ron glaring at the wall, Hermione drawing small circles through his hair. Then, very gently, his left hand went up to cover hers. He cupped her right hand and gently pulled it away from his hair. Hermione watched, entranced, as he looked at their hands, then brought hers up to his mouth and kissed her palm.

She gasped, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it. As slowly as he had pulled it up to him, he set her hand on the blankets covering her. She flipped her hand and intertwined her fingers with his, holding on as tightly as she dared. She heard a chuckle and he squeezed her back, but not too roughly, she noticed.

"I love you."

She hadn't planned to say it again; heck, she hadn't planned to say it the first time! But she felt it had to be said; he had to know. That way, even if she didn't make it, if Harry and Ron had to finish the hunt by themselves, Ron would know that he wasn't just the sidekick. He wasn't just the second-hand to Harry Potter – he was his own person, and what a wonderful person he was. He was so kind and caring and beautiful and everything she could ever want.

But how could she communicate this all to him?

Any plans she had to do so evacuated her mind when she looked into his liquid blue eyes – so full of obvious love and affection that Hermione felt herself becoming overwhelmed. "I love you too," he whispered, looking longingly from her eyes to her lips. His gaze returned to her face. "I've loved you for years now, and I know I've been a git to you, and I – I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," she said, squeezing his hand. He chuckled but said nothing, just staring at her. She could see his eyes glowing, more brightly than they had since the wedding way back in August. Hermione felt an obstruction in her throat as she watched him, finally understanding everything he had wanted to tell her but never had. Every stupid bicker, every full-out argument, every begrudging make-up, every night working on homework in front of the fire until the ungodly hours of morning; it all suddenly made sense. Not that it hadn't before, but it just did now.

And then, as she watched, his smile grew slack. Lines formed on his forehead and his eyes turned desperate. "We can't do this now," he whispered, "can we?"

For a moment Hermione wondered what on earth he could mean. Realization was a well-aimed shot to her heart, so powerful that she felt her chest explode and eyes water. "No." The word caught in her throat on the way up, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "We – we can't. We couldn't possibly do that to Harry, he needs us! And the war-"

Ron silenced her by squeezing her hand. When she looked at him, she could see a new fear in his eyes. He seemed determined to speak, however. He swallowed thickly as he began murmuring in a slow, quite voice. "I know we can't be together now, or maybe ever, for that matter, but what about tonight?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What do you mea-"

"I mean I want my chance!" Ron said, his voice rising. "I waited three years for this and who knows? I might die tomorrow-"

"Don't say that!"

"-so why can't we be together tonight?" He was holding her hand so tightly it hurt, but she didn't dare say anything. He gazed at her steadily, hoping, pleading. "What if tonight – just tonight – we could talk and… I don't know, maybe I can kiss your hand and get you flowers and we can forget all the bullshit in the world. What if tonight we can pretend the war's over and that we're sitting in the living room of the flat I bought with my own money as we eat ice cream and complain about our jobs. Tonight we can laugh and cuddle and you can tell me off for swearing and I'll tell you how amazing the book you made me read was." His eyes were bright with the same pain and hope that Hermione could feel pounding through her. "Can we do that? Just tonight?"

Hermione felt her eyes watering. She tried to blink away the tears, all the while nodding her head vigorously. "Yes."

Ron beamed a beautiful smile, so bright and radiant that Hermione was sure she'd never seen a more beautiful sight, but before she could relish in it, there was a knock on the door. Ron jerked his hand away unexpectedly as the knob twisted and Fleur walked in without warning. "Oh, excuse me," she said politely, looking between the two teenagers, "but 'Arry 'as been sitting in zee garden for quite some time. Bill was wondering if you two should go and see him?"

"Oh!" Ron exclaimed, his face reddening as he looked from Fleur, to Hermione, and then out the window, where the dark sky was just beginning to lighten. "Yeah, we should probably do that," he said, his voice cracking. "I'll go out there. Hermione, you stay-"

"I will not!" Hermione argued. "He is my friend to and if you think I'm going to-"

"It's not a debate on who's his friend-"

"-then you are sorely mistaken-"

"-condition! You need to rest-"

"-Ronald Weasley! And don't even-"

"Enough!" Fleur silenced them. "How about Ron goes to 'Arry now and 'Ermione and I will join 'im in a minute?"

They looked begrudgingly at each other for a moment before nodding. "Fine," Ron said, his voice gravelly. "But just… don't push yourself." His eyes were large now, pleading.

Hermione hated that he was thinking of her like some elderly relative, but the soreness in her throat from talking so loudly didn't seem to in her favor. "Fine," she said quietly, looking down. "I'll be down in a moment."

He smiled and waved a farewell as he left the room, leaving Hermione alone with Fleur. "Now," Fleur said, holding up a dressing gown that Hermione hadn't noticed she'd brought in. "I simply can't allow you out in those filthy rags."

Changing into the dressing gown was harder than it looked and, after several long minutes of insisting to Fleur that she didn't need any help, Hermione succumbed to the fact that she couldn't do it alone. After she was changed, Fleur left the room to take her laundry to the wash, telling Hermione not to do anything drastic while she was gone. _Honestly, it's as if I'm a child! _Hermione thought in annoyance. Of course she could stand for herself, she wasn't entirely helpless!

But, as it turned out, standing was a lot harder than usual. The simple act of putting weight on her feet caused pain to shoot up her legs, making her cry out in agony and frustration as she fell back, glued to the edge of the bed. "'Ermione, are you okay?" Fleur's voice called from down the hallway.

"Fine!" Hermione yelled back through gritted teeth. Yes, she was absolutely okay… just a little sore.

If she was going to get up she would have to do it quickly; ripping a band-aid off a wound. That was it, right? It didn't matter. Bracing herself, she pushed off the bed and onto her feet. As soon as she did so, she knew it was a mistake. Her legs were shaking and pain was shooting from them like arrows. She fell forward against a dresser, alleviating some of the pain from her feet and putting it on her arms. "Oh – Merlin, agh," she groaned. "I – I'm fine. Per – perfectly fine. Come on, Hermione. Fine."

After a moment of laborious panting, Hermione began inching her way to the door, using the dresser for support. "Fine, you're fine," she kept telling herself around random bursts of pain. Was it just her imagination, or was it getting easier?

By the time she had reached the end of the dresser, Hermione knew it was indeed getting easier. It didn't hurt as much, but she was still shaky, and the amount of energy she was putting out to move was starting to make her dizzy. She would never have believed she would be so grateful to see Fleur as when she saw the beautiful woman enter the room.

"Do you need 'elp?"

"Yes, please," she gasped.

With Fleur's help, Hermione was able to make her way out of the house, growing steadier with every step. By the front door she was able to move independently, but just barely. Fleur held her around her waist as they began across the uneven beach leading to where Harry, Ron, and a few other people already seemed to be standing.

As they got closer, Hermione realized they were surrounding a hole – a grave. Bile rising in her throat, she sped up, limping as fast as she could until she was at the edge of the crowd and she saw a small, feeble body lying down, wrapped in Harry's jacket, wearing Ron's shoes.

"Dobby…"

Her legs were shaking worse than ever. She was sure she was about to collapse when she felt an arm close around her shoulders, holding her up. She felt Ron's mouth press to her temple and put a hand on his chest, trying to hold herself up. "How… what happened?"

"He saved us," Ron whispered as Luna closed Dobby's eyes. "You were out of it – Luna, Dean, Griphook, and Ollivander were in the basement. We got out – long story short, he saved us."

Hermione felt as if the world were spinning worse than ever. Dobby, dead. Dead. Dobby. She didn't understand; the words didn't seem to fit together.

She watched silently as Harry laid Dobby in his grave before climbing out, his expression that of a grieving sibling to the dead. The entire thing, otherwise, was a blur. Luna spoke, and so did some other people. When Hermione saw Bill raise his wand to fill in the grave, she couldn't take it. She buried her face in Ron's chest, hoping no one else would notice her crying.

"C'mon," she heard Ron murmur after a moment. "Let's get back inside." She shook her head silently, afraid if either of them moved at all she would break down sobbing. "Hermione, it's over. We can't – we can't stay here any longer." From his voice, it didn't sound like Ron was far from tears himself. Trying to pull herself together, Hermione nodded and forced herself to leave the warmth and safety of his chest. He remained with his arm around her as helped her back up to the cottage, neither of them uttering a word all the way.

They were in the sitting room when Hermione finally felt her legs wearing out. "I need to sit down," she whispered.

"Now?"

"Yes."

He helped her take a seat on the couch, making sure she was comfortable before sitting down next to her, looking at her with a rather concerned expression. "What now?" she asked, her voice unnaturally quiet.

"Are you okay?"

She shook her head slightly, which seemed enough for him. She felt his arms wrap around her and pull her into his chest again, giving her some privacy as everything that had happened in the last few hours washed over her, fresh in her raw mind. "It will be okay," she heard him choke from above and felt his chin in her hair. "We'll make it okay with Harry, together."

But with Dobby's death fresh in her mind, Hermione wasn't so sure of that. Who was going to be next? Harry? Ron? Herself? What about her parents, or Ron's family? Or their friends – the ones they had just worked so hard to save? Apparently the school wasn't even safe anymore; how many students would never make it home for the summer holidays?

As she was overwhelmed, Hermione pushed herself up to look Ron in the eye. "Together or not at all."

Ron blinked at her, his eyes wide. "What?"

"We're making it out of this together," she put her hand over his heart, looking at him with all the sincerity she could muster. "Or not at all."

Ron hesitated for a moment longer before seeming to understand what she was saying. Nodding, he murmured, "Together or not at all."

Hermione smiled sadly, no longer caring that she was crying or that her eyes must be terribly bloodshot. "Maybe one day we'll get out of this," she said quietly, "but until then… just tonight?"

Ron half-smiled. "Just tonight."

Pausing for only a moment to think, Hermione leaned forward to kiss his cheek, resting her face against the side of his head. His stubble with rough and tickled against her cheek; what she could feel of his skin was warm and soft, pleasurable to touch. She didn't know if she was allowed to do this, considering they weren't together… but it was his idea, not hers, and she figured that if she was going to die tomorrow, what would it matter that she'd finally answered one of the questions that had always bugged her: what does Ron Weasley's stubble feel like?

They remained like that for a few moments; enjoying the feeling of one another in comfortable silence. Hermione was dozing off when Ron moved. "Harry's in," he murmured, shaking his shoulder to rouse her. "Let's find out what he's up to."

/

Hermione's head was spinning as she lay in bed a few hours later, the shades drawn tight over the windows to block out the noontime sun. As much as she hated it to be true, she had to believe what Harry had said, even in spite of Ron's firm objections. It only made sense that the Elder Wand was real, and that Voldemort now had it. But that only made their problems worse; they would have to find the remaining Horcruxes _while_ running from the darkest wizard in the world who just so happened to be in possession of the most powerful wand in the world.

And then, before she could understand what was happening, she was lying on the floor. Disgusting, sour breath burned her face and lungs and she choked, trying to get clean oxygen. She looked up to see the nasty dark eyes, pale skin, and frizzy hair of Bellatrix Lestrange looming over her, pinning her to the ground.

Every single nerve of her body was immediately on end; panic consumed her, so strong she couldn't think properly or rationally – she just knew that she had to get away, get away fast. But she couldn't, and it was crushing her. Maybe this was how and trapped, wounded animal felt, so desperate that they were on the verge of insanity.

Bellatrix cackled, pulling her knife from her sleeve. Hermione wanted to throw up, for it was that knife; the very same, she knew, that had killed Dobby. _And now it'll kill me, too. _

But, just as she felt the knife pinching her throat and a trickle of blood falling down her neck, another voice spoke up.

"HERMIONE!"

"RON, NO!"

It was too late; she saw Ron running at Bellatrix. Just as he was about to hit her, Bellatrix jumped at him, but she wasn't Bellatrix anymore. Her hair was gone, her black dress a cloak, and her nose had been replaced by two ugly snake-like slits…

"Ow!" There was a terrible snap as Ron was pushed into the ground. Voldemort turned around to look at her, his red-slit eyes glowing and his horrible, lipless mouth curled in a sneer. "You're next, Mudblood," he whispered, pushing aside Ron's now lifeless corpse.

Hermione screamed, her eyes and throat stinging in protest. She tried to move, but she was bound to the spot by invisible ropes. She struggled against them, her eyes never leaving Ron, telling herself he had to be okay – he simply had to be. He'd promised her; "together or not at all", he'd promised. "RON!" she cried, fighting with the last of her energy. "RON! RON, NO! NO! NO!"

Then Voldemort was upon her. He bared his teeth to reveal snake-like fangs, fangs he was prepared to sink into her neck at any moment…

"Hermione, snap out of it!"

Hopefully Harry could find the rest of the Horcruxes without them…

"HERMIONE!"

At least her parents would be okay…

"HERMIONE. WAKE. UP."

Hermione blinked. She was staring at the while ceiling of her guest bedroom in Shell Cottage, her entire body shaking. Or… wait, no! There was somebody shaking her.

"Hermione! Are you okay?"

Ron was kneeling on the bed beside her, hands on her shoulders and eyes wide in fear. "Answer me, Hermione!" he said rather forcefully. "What happened?"

Hermione felt the tears welling in her eyes before she could stop them. Sitting up abruptly she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, her entire body trembling with fear and relief. "You're okay," she sobbed, hugging him tighter, making sure he was real. "You're alive. Oh, Ron, you were dead. Y – you were dead and he was c – coming for me."

She felt his tense muscles relax slightly. "So it was – er – just a nightmare?"

She wouldn't have said 'just a nightmare' but, unwilling to elaborate, she simply nodded.

"Well it's – uh – it's okay now. I'm here. We're both alive."

"But for how long?" she asked crudely, pulling away to glare at him. "How long are we going to be alive, Ron? How – how long before he…" she simply couldn't continue.

Ron seemed to ponder for a moment, figuring out the correct response, before he answered. "He won't get to you, or me, or Harry for that matter. We'll be fine as long as we follow Dumbledore's orders, right? Right."

Hermione wanted with all her might to believe him; she wanted to believe him so much it physically hurt. So, instead of thinking about it, she pulled him down on the mattress next to her. "S – stay with me, please," she whispered. She could see the indecision in his eyes as he looked at her, contemplating. "Just tonight."

Ron's expression hardened as he looked at her. His Adam's apple bobbed and he glanced toward the bedroom door. Then, looking down at Hermione with the slightest hint of a tender smile, he said,

"Just tonight."

**I'll say it now – that one paragraph where the 'Just Tonight' comes in is amazing and I am very much proud of it. So proud. I actually wrote it in Driver's Ed a few months ago and literally cried. I just changed the actual story to fit around it and presto! **

**So please favorite/follow if you enjoyed. Feel free to leave a review (they are very nice) and wish me luck as I venture out of the realms of delightful fiction and into the cruel reality of my unwritten business paper. Good luck at high school, college, work, or whatever you may have going on tomorrow. Bye! **


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